


Exam

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Connor inspects a possible deviant.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 99





	Exam

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

For whatever reason, Markus’ entire body tenses once he’s opened the door, though the android on the other side looks far from threatening. He has a pale complexion, dark brown hair combed back, a grey CyberLife suit and a slightly skinnier frame than Markus—nothing Markus couldn’t handle. Not that he would have to handle another android. The biggest threat in Carl’s life is his own flesh and blood—humans, for all their frailties, are often more dangerous than artificial life.

Not that androids have _life_. Markus mulls that all over in less than a fraction of a second, then greets placidly, “Carl Manfred’s house. How may I help you?”

“I need to speak with Mr. Manfred.”

It’s common for visitors to overlook Markus entirely. He often _makes_ them go through him first, because if he can protect Carl from even the slightest inconvenience, he will. But he can tell this android means business, and he steps aside, gesturing into the hall. The android files in and beelines for the living room without having to be told—Carl’s sitting on one of the plush couches, currently half bent over a sketchbook, erratically doodling his latest great design. Markus follows the android in and sees Carl glance up curiously. The android reports, “Mr. Manfred. My name is Connor. I am an android sent by CyberLife to investigate deviants.”

“Deviants?” Carl repeats, frowning and glancing surreptitiously at Markus, who offers nothing. Markus stands perfectly still, suddenly conscious to not even _breathe_ —a simulated habit he’d installed for Carl’s comfort. 

‘Connor’ explains, “Malfunctioning androids. We’ve had a report about yours.”

Markus has that prickling feeling again, like he _would_ tense up if he weren’t already pulled taut. He can see the flicker of _fear_ in Carl’s eyes, and that makes something sink in Markus’ chest, though a self-diagnostic checks out: there’s nothing there to drop. Carl chokes on air for a brief moment before muttering, “That’ll just be my son pulling a prank, there’s nothing wrong—”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to investigate your android to be certain.”

“Well I _do_ mind, I’m telling you he’s—”

“If it is indeed showing signs of deviancy, CyberLife is within its rights to repossess it.”

“Now you listen here—!” Carl jerks forward as though to sit up, but his legs give way, and he just flops deeper into the couch, looking thoroughly pathetic and stirring something in Markus that shouldn’t be there. Carl swallows and tries again. “Look, Markus was _personally_ given to me by the _founder_ of CyberLife—”

“I am aware of what the records say. What I am interested in is whether or not CyberLife can permit you to _keep_ that gift.”

Carl’s brow twitches. He looks _furious_ , but he must know there’s nothing he can do. Markus finally steps in in an effort to diffuse the situation. He tells Carl in the same soft voice he often uses to drag Carl from the studio late at night, “It’s alright, Carl. I can handle this.”

Carl insists, “That’s not the point, Markus; you shouldn’t _have_ to.”

“But it _does_ have to,” Connor interjects, sounding perfectly impassive, like any good android should.

Maybe Markus isn’t a _good_ android. Sometimes he looks at Carl’s paintings and thinks of things that don’t fall anywhere within his programming. But he’s certainly not _defective_.

He takes a step towards Connor and holds out his arm, assuming that’s how he’ll be scanned. He meets Connor’s brown eyes with a steady focus befitting of their kind. 

Connor turns towards Markus and clasps Markus’ hands, fingers intertwining with his—Markus glances down and watches their human flesh melt away, shiny white flickering through. It isn’t what he expected. There is no transfer of data. But Connor’s _watching_ him, and Markus realizes that Connor’s judging the dilation of his pupils and the flow of his synthetic blood. Then Connor’s eyes sweep lower down Markus’ body, taking in the way his dark shirt stretches tight across his muscular body. In a lowered voice, Connor informs him, “You are a very... _handsome_... model.”

Behind them, Carl growls, “What’s that got to do with it?”

Markus doesn’t answer. He focuses on Connor’s face, and that one little tuft of soft hair that’s fallen across his smooth forehead. His skin is flecked here and there with little dots—slight imperfections that denote individuality when none is truly there. Connor draws his pink lips together and slips his tongue out to trace the bottom one, making it glimmer, fully capable of a good approximation of saliva. Connor’s half-lidded eyes capture the light. 

Connor takes another step closer, slotting right between Markus’ spread legs, and sidles up so close that they’re flattened together. Markus can _feel_ the sculpted planes of Connor’s chest through his jacket. Connor all but purrs across Markus’ lips, “An attractive man like you must be fully... _functional_.”

Alarm bells go off in Markus’ mind, but he clamps down on his reaction before it can ever go far enough for Connor to see or scan it. Androids like this don’t call others _men_ , because they’re _machines_ , and Connor’s tone makes it perfectly clear which parts he wants functional. Markus returns evenly, “I am anatomically accurate.”

Carl mutters, “This is absurd...”

Connor’s fingers curl under Markus’ chin, devoid of any warmth. The gentle pad of his thumb presses just below Markus’ lips, drawing his jaw open, and Markus obediently opens his mouth. He allows Connor to close what little distance remains. Their mouths come together, Connor’s slick tongue diving expertly into his mouth. 

Markus has a rudimentary understanding of _sex_. He was originally programmed with all the right algorithms, but they’re outdated—Carl’s never used any. Connor must have more up-to-date files, because he kisses Markus so fiercely that something snaps in Markus—he can see the red wall behind him insisting he go no further, though _desire_ surges through him—this is a young, virile lover who could keep up with him; he loves Carl dearly, but his only company is an elderly man he thinks of like a father—it would feel so _good_ to have someone to rut against in the middle of the night. He could throw Connor right over the coffee table and fill him up, pump into him again and again, come all over his pretty face and—

Markus holds still. He kisses Connor back, but only mildly, restrained, providing all the moment calls for and nothing more. He answers Connor in equal measure and initiates nothing on his own. Carl’s fallen quiet, and Markus won’t sully his home with the kind of crazed love-making that Markus yearns for. He obeys the red wall and its command.

After four minutes and twenty-three seconds, Connor withdraws. He taps Markus’ chin and closes his mouth. Markus complies. Connor lingers for a moment longer, searching Markus’ eyes, but Markus reveals nothing through them. 

Carl asks, “What. The hell. _Was that_?”

Connor lifts an eyebrow. He turns to Carl, seemingly perturbed by Carl’s gumption—Markus has discovered that Carl’s spirit is unusual. Connor explains, “I was simply testing the android’s response to temptation.”

Carl snorts, “So no deviant could resist you, is that it?”

Connor humorlessly answers, “I have been versed in all the top seduction techniques. A repressed deviant would not be able to resist me.”

Markus wants to snort too. The vanity of CyberLife isn’t lost on him, and maybe that should be worrying. He should observe Carl’s humour and not emulate it. Maybe he really is malfunctioning. 

But if he is a deviant, he’d prefer to remain _Carl’s_ deviant. He deliberately looks at the far wall and not Connor, not his pretty mouth and the memory of his touch. 

Connor straightens his jacket—put on posturing modeled after humans. He tells Carl, “Thank you for your time. We won’t be bothering you again.” 

Then he leaves, and Markus bizarrely enjoys watching him go.


End file.
